


19th Nervous Breakdown

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: sexy_right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's been in a high speed chase, nearly creamed by a flying car, held hostage, and shot in the goddamn knee.  So Matt's not sure why simply standing in the vestibule of a generic, oh-so-carefully non-denominational chapel is the most terrifying thing he's ever experienced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	19th Nervous Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's sexy_right community, for the prompt "Maybe I'll just sit here and bleed at you."
> 
> * * *

He's been in a high speed chase, nearly creamed by a flying car, held hostage, and shot in the goddamn knee. So Matt's not sure why simply standing in the vestibule of a generic, oh-so-carefully non-denominational chapel is the most terrifying thing he's ever experienced.

Not that he's standing. What he's doing could more adequately be described as pacing. 

He glares down at his too-tight too-shiny shoes as he makes another circuit of the room; compulsively checks his jacket pocket for the index card with his scribbled notes. Whoever came up with the stupid idea of writing their own vows, anyway? He's totally blaming John, even though his traitorous mind insists on reminding him that he was the one who brought it up, back when marriage was still just a vague event in their far-off future. Back when he didn't fully realize that he'd have to stand up in front of John's ex-wife and kids and colleagues and actually _say out loud_ all the things that he normally whispers to John in the dark. 

He comes to a stop at the closed doors, rests his forehead on the wood and tries to get his breathing under control. 

"Just relax," John says mildly from the other side of the room.

Matt swings toward him. "Relax?" he squeaks out. "Sure. Okay. I'll just relax. Easy for you to say. _You've_ done this before!"

John scowls at him, pushes off from the wall where he's been casually, irritatingly leaning for the past fifteen minutes, like he doesn't have a care in the world. "You've got a little…" he starts, waving a hand in the air in the general direction of his face.

Matt frowns, lifts his hand to his nose. He feels his eyes widen when the finger comes away tipped with blood. Great, just great. He only ever gets nosebleeds when his anxiety levels are at Defcon One, and the fact that he didn't get one during the fire sale debacle just goes to show exactly how keyed up he is. Just looking at the blood makes him feel a little woozy, like maybe he might—

"Whoa, kid!" John yells. "You gonna pass out here?"

Matt shakes his head, but the motion only makes the room spin. He takes a breath, feels the telltale rattle in his chest. His breaths are suddenly coming fast and furious, and not in the cool Dom Toretto way. This day just gets better and better.

"And now I'm hyperventilating. Okay. Okay, this is not good. Did you bring the inhaler?"

"It's in the car, I'll just get someone to run out and—"

"In the CAR? It's in the car, McClane? Jesus—" 

"Just calm down," John snaps out. "Have a seat, I'll go and—"

"Have a seat," Matt mutters as he flops down into one of the folding chairs. He drags the handkerchief out of his pocket, dabs at his nose and winces when the bright red blood stains the cloth. The suit rental company is just going to love this. "Okay, I'll just sit. Maybe I'll just sit here and bleed at you, how about that? That is just about the best plan you've ever had, John. This rivals stealing a helicopter that you don't know how to fly for levels of brilliance, you know that?"

"We could cancel."

"Have a seat, the man says. That's even better than… what?"

"We could call the whole thing off," John says. Matt looks up in time to see him swipe a hand over his scalp. "Look, kid. If you're losing your shit this much, maybe it's a sign that you're not ready for this." 

"No."

"Doesn't mean we're not going to be together, Matt. It just means that the commitment is too much for you right now. Hey, it's okay. We'll tell everybody we changed our minds. Head back home, just the two of us."

"No," Matt says. "Jesus, no. I want to marry you."

"Kid, you're the color of swiss cheese right now."

"I happen to think that a swiss cheese complexion is an attractive look on a man," Matt says. He manages a grin, and finds that when he rises from the chair his legs aren't even the slightest bit wobbly. By the time he reaches John and settles a palm on his lapel, his breathing has evened out completely. "I want to marry you, John."

"You sure about that?"

Matt blinks, looks – really looks – at John for the first time since they struggled into their monkey-suits that morning. Realizes suddenly that John McClane doesn't exactly have the best track record with relationships, and maybe he's more nervous about this little endeavor than Matt thought. He leans in, lifts his palm to John's cheek. "I'm sure. We're doing this. You're not going to get rid of me that easily, McClane."

"No?" 

"Nope," Matt says. "Besides, Lucy would kill us if she went to all this trouble to organize the ceremony and we bailed."

"Damn right she would," Lucy says. 

Matt turns in John's arms to see the woman in question standing in the open doorway. Matt does his best not to panic when he glimpses the crowd assembled in the pews behind her, all of them gawking while trying to look like they're not gawking. John's warm arm around his waist helps to steady him when Lucy takes a step through the door, cocks her head back at the waiting crowd. "You know, we can hear every word you're saying."

"Great," Matt mutters.

"You wanna have your little panic attack when we're done, Farrell? 'Cause we're on a schedule here."

"It's not like I planned to—"

Lucy raises a finger, cutting him off as effectively as a slap. "You've got two minutes before I come back out here and drag you down that aisle myself. Got it?"

Matt's only aware that his mouth is hanging open and that he's unable to form words when John's hand squeezes around his waist and nudges him out of his stupor. "Duly noted, honey," John says as Lucy retreats back into the chapel.

"She really is even more bossy that you," he says.

"Taught her well," John says proudly. Matt swears his chest even puffs out a little as he tightens his grip, turns in his arms. "I don't ever wanna get rid of you, kid. You know that, right?"

Matt grins. "Fittingly for the situation…I do."

"Smartass."

"You always were a fan of my ass."

"Well," John says, "it's a great ass."

"We can still hear you," Lucy sing-songs from behind the closed door.

John cocks his head, and when he smirks Matt feels something relax and unclench in his chest. "She might kill us before this is over," Matt says. "We're risking our lives here, McClane."

"Guess we'd better do what she says, then." John releases him from the hug, but only so that he can take his hand and face the doors. "Let's get married, kid."


End file.
